


Lightning Strikes More Than Twice

by kibasniper



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Confusion, Deception, During Canon, Fire, Gen, Mystery, Shock & Awe, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: It's the tenth time that lightning strikes Flint's home, and Fuel watches it burn.





	Lightning Strikes More Than Twice

Fuel watched the fire devour the roof. His wide eyes became fixated on the flames that ate through wood and steel. Behind him, his neighbors cried and crowded around him as the smoke rose towards the white clouds. Sharp cries of horror mingled with curses, piercing through the formerly calm afternoon. Leaning into his father’s side the flames continued spreading, Fuel buried the temptation to join them in their fearful cacophony.

Flint’s home was once again the victim of a lightning strike. Even though it was a perfectly sunny day, the lightning blasted through Tazmily’s peace. It struck Flint’s house and set it aflame, and Fuel counted it as the tenth time lightning crashed through the home. The last time it happened, he remembered Biff sneering that Flint’s burning home was a sick comedy act.

Fuel thought he could feel the warm soot coat his body. He subconsciously rubbed his arms and furrowed his brow, the flames feeling as if they would prick his skin. Any closer and he feared he would become one with the smoke and fire, but Lighter ran his fingers through Fuel’s hair, the gesture soothing his nerves.

Policemen shouted and barged through with Pigmasks, beings who made Fuel’s eyebrows raise. They were new to the village, but they seemed like they were everywhere. Each time he turned to look around, a Pigmask was present. Whether they were resting against the Yado Inn, recently refurbished and modernized, or promoting Happy Boxes, they had infested Tazmily with their bloated bodies and snorting commands.

The Pigmasks carried hoses and blasted the roof with gushing water. They huffed as if they were too exhausted from their regimes to perform the most basic of their duties. Fuel heard one of them complain about the lack of a fire station in the village, and glancing over his shoulder, he watched Jackie pipe up in agreement, a hesitant grin stretching into his cheeks.

The water cleansed the flames, but the destruction remained. Smoke lingered from the roof. The remaining stench was enough to make Fuel cover his nose, and he shifted his attention to the charred sheep. Their singed wool was blacker than night, and pity ran through Fuel as he swept his gaze across Flint’s flock. 

A guttural sigh broke through the worries of the villagers. Fassad stepped forward, Pigmasks in tow as they rolled up their hoses. He approached Flint, who lowered his hat, and at his side, Lucas narrowed his eyes in an unreadable expression.

“Ah, my dear friend, how misfortunate. You must be the unluckiest man in the village.” Fassad flashed a bright smile filled with too many teeth. “I’m sorry to say this, but I think you are also the unhappiest man in Tazmily.”

Villagers murmured among themselves. Fuel listened to Abbey and Abbot whisper to each other that they found peace with their updated Happy Boxes. His skin crawled as Betsy spoke up and chastised Flint for leaving Lucas unattended when the fire broke out.

“Oh, Betsy, let’s not be judgmental. I only wish for the happiness of everyone, and that’s why with Happy Boxes, you can be happy and protected, too!” Fassad threw his arm out, addressing the crowd like a king to his subjects. “Why, Dona, Bill! You two got your Happy Boxes right after lightning struck your home, yes?”

Dona floundered under the attention, and Bill took charge. He took off his hat, fanning himself and saying, “We sure did. Haven’t had a single unfortunate thing happen to us since we got it.”

“And that is why I implore you all to receive one. Need I remind you that your first Happy Box is free,” Fassad replied, and Fuel squirmed, something not sitting right within him.

The way Fassad spoke was like a cheap salesman. In this time of distress, he focused only on the Happy Boxes. The other villagers would have immediately offered to help Flint, but instead, they kept to themselves. Some even chatted about the newest additions they’ve received to their Happy Boxes while Flint’s house smoldered.

Fuel stared at Lucas. He noticed him clenching his fists and jaw so tightly that Fuel expected something to snap. Lucas seemed like he wanted to say something, and a fire burned in his eyes brighter than the flames that torched his roof. It was only the comforting nudging of Boney nestling against his side that seemed to silence his tongue.

Fassad turned to Flint, his hands clasped together. “My good man, you’ve been through so much. Let me give you a Happy Box.”

Flint kept his white-knuckled grip on his hat. “No, thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to fix my roof.”

“But, oh, I don’t want any more unhappiness to plague you.” Fassad’s lips quirked into a frown.

“Flint! Just get a Happy Box. It’s practically a good luck charm at this point,” Isaac snapped, crossing his arms. He shot a sympathetic glance at Lucas. “I’ve had that thing for a whole year now, and it’s given me nothing but joy. Isn’t it about time you buckle down and get one?”

“And it’s free!” Fassad added, bobbing his head in agreement.

Flint shook his head. “I said no. I have to work to do.”

Fassad sighed, facing the displeased crowd. “Well, everyone, I can only hope that one day, he will take my suggestion. As you can all see, this man and his stupi-” He cleared his throat. “-stupendous son, are victims of unhappiness, but those with the Happy Box have only found more and more happiness! That is why I implore you all to get one. Ask your friends and neighbors who have them. They’ll give you testimonials on how effective they are in seeking genuine happiness.”

Fuel felt his father’s hand leave his head as he turned away and set down his log for Flint. It seemed Lighter didn’t want to listen to Fassad, a huff escaping his lips as he marched off. Fuel hobbled after him, sparing Lucas a final glance and finding a look of forlorn helplessness ghosting his expression.

“Hey, Dad, maybe we should stick around and help out,” he offered, and Lighter smiled at his son.

“I can tell Flint doesn’t want to be disturbed right now. We’ll check in on them tomorrow.” He ruffled Fuel’s hair. “How’s that sound?”

Fuel returned his father’s grin and walked in tandem with him. As he gazed out and saw Tazmily slowly modernizing with larger buildings and cobblestone walkways, he found himself gulping once again.

Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. In Tazmily, strangeness settled over his humble village and distanced the neighbors from one another. Unless everything was a massive coincidence, lightning never struck the same place twice. Either Lucas really was the most miserable boy in the world as Fassad claimed or Tazmily Village seeped further into oddities that didn’t add up.

Fuel’s fists clenched at his sides. He glowered at the deep blue sky, but to his shock, he watched another bolt of lightning streaked past him. It cut through the calm chirping of birds and sliced through flimsy clouds. Distant villagers shrieked as the bolt slammed down in a massive boom, and when he looked over his shoulder, his mouth dropped open.

Flint’s home was once again on fire, and all Fuel could do was watch the flames burn through Lucas’ room.


End file.
